


Change

by athousandsmiles



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:32:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandsmiles/pseuds/athousandsmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just as she rights herself, he's there in front of her, reaching out to steady her and she stops dead in her tracks, pretty sure her mouth is hanging open in a most unattractive manner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change

**Author's Note:**

> This contains minor spoilers for season four, so proceed at your own risk. 
> 
> I keep reading these fics about Hook's new wardrobe, where Emma reacts quite favorably, and they're all great fics. But my mind went somewhere else completely.

Emma stumbles on the sidewalk, tired after all the freakish weather related incidents and snow monsters and ice queens and avoiding pirates who want (and deserve) more from her than she's giving. Just as she rights herself, he's there in front of her, reaching out to steady her and she stops dead in her tracks, pretty sure her mouth is hanging open in a most unattractive manner. 

Hook is wearing a short, modern black leather jacket and a modern shirt and vest and pants, and… she can't process this, can't move, can't think, and if she _could_ move, she's suddenly sure she'd run. As it is, all she can do is blink back tears and stare at him. 

"Swan, everything all right?" he asks, looking down at her with such concern in his eyes, it makes her turn her gaze to the sidewalk like it's of sudden interest to her.

"You changed," is all she can mutter in response, glancing quickly back up at him.

He scratches behind his ear nervously and says, "Aye. Do you not like it?"

"I… no, yes, I mean, you look good," she replies, shaking her head, and it's true, but his new look hurts her in ways she can't quite grasp, let alone articulate. He looks incredibly good, handsome, sexy. Desirable. That thought brings a sharp sting of pain to her heart region, and she looks away again, grasping for an escape plan.

"I thought if I'm going to stay here" (with you, he doesn't add, but she knows he wants to), "I should try to blend in a bit. I thought… well, perhaps I was wrong, as it seems you don't like it. Perhaps you don't want me to blend in because you don't want me to stay here. Is that why you've been avoiding me?"

And now there's so much hurt in his eyes, it signals the tears in her own to fall against her will, fogging up her vision before rolling down her cheeks. 

"I do want you to stay," she says, reaching tentatively for his hand and stroking it with her thumb. "I wasn't lying. You look really good. It's just… " and here she stumbles on her words because there's a traffic jam of emotion in her throat. In his modern clothes, he looks like, well like what a lot of women dream about: an incredibly hot guy with a healthy dose of bad boy in him. Desirable, but also, much more approachable, and suddenly she knows why it bothers her so much.

"It's just what, Emma?" he asks, soft and tender, pulling his hand from hers to swipe sweetly at her tears.

That action prompts her to throw herself into his arms and cling in a way she's sure she'll be ashamed of later. She hasn't been needy when it comes to men since she was a foolish teenager in love with a thief. 

Propping her chin against his shoulder, she murmurs, "In your pirate gear, you… you were just mine." 

He looks down into her eyes, confused, and she continues. "Most people here still thought of you as, well, a villain. Your clothing confirmed it. You were still Hook, still… formidable. Off-putting. It didn't occur to me to worry about…."

"About what, Swan?"

"About other women wanting you," she admits, and it pains her to put that out there, to confess her insecurities. "They either feared you or loathed you. But now you look much more… You look very…. " She sighs, unable to finish the thought. 

He has the decency not to look too smug before answering. "You're worried women will be throwing themselves at me now? Why Swan, I'm insulted. Women have been throwing themselves at me for centuries, love."

"Not here they haven't," she says with a roll of her eyes at his cocky grin.

"That's only because they know I'm yours," he murmurs, his thumb sweeping over her cheek in little trails of fire. 

The look on his face is the sexiest mix of arrogance and adoration she's ever seen, and lord help her, it does nothing to ease her worries whatsoever. If he ever looks at any other woman like that, she'll murder him with his own hook because she's sure no woman could resist it. And as if to prove it, she moves in for a kiss like her lips have a will of their own, her hands gripping his face and angling him right where she wants him.

"That's more like it," he says when they break apart, his voice a low rumble that does nothing to calm the fireworks sparking in her every nerve ending. "Had I known you'd become so possessive, I'd have purchased a new wardrobe sooner."

Those words trigger a new set of conflicts within her, and she sighs again and takes a step back.

"Killian."

"What now, love?"

"I don't want you to change for me," she says, waving her hand vaguely at his outfit. "If you like your pirate wear more than this, it's okay. I don't care what you're wearing as long as you're happy. And I don't care what people here think of you. You don't have to fit in by changing your clothes. You already fit, right here," and with that, she places his palm against her heart, certain she's never done anything so sappy in her life, but also certain he deserves it after all her running and avoiding.

That makes him smile at her like she just set him loose in Anton's treasure room, so wide and happy and sparkly-eyed, and damn if he won't be the death of her at this rate. And then, he's crushing her to him and she can hardly breathe, but she's not entirely sure it's because of the pressure of his arms around her or the pleasure of his arms around her. Either way, she thinks, breathing is over-rated. 

"Thank you, Swan," he murmurs against her hair, and for once she doesn't feel like running. 

For once, she stays.


End file.
